


Silver Chords | THE ARCANA University AU

by Ashburn1198



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Car Accidents, F/F, F/M, Fortune Telling, M/M, Memory Loss, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 21:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20442719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashburn1198/pseuds/Ashburn1198
Summary: A pair of grey eyes meets and pair of blue ones.





	Silver Chords | THE ARCANA University AU

**Author's Note:**

> i am in the twelfth circle of arcana hell and i'm dragging y'all down with me

My mom told me that I was an outdoors person, that I could lay in the sun for hours and hours without wishing for shade or even a breeze to wash over my face. She said I loved roller coasters, and that my best subject was math, and that I was going to be an engineer. She said that my best friends were all very popular, and I was well-loved by many. She said I liked form-fitting clothes, for how well you could move around in them, and that I wouldn’t be caught dead in a sweater. She said I had claustrophobia, and could never sit still. She said I was afraid of bees.

The fear of bees in the only thing that’s true. Maybe I was like that before, but not now.

I am an indoors person who needs a lot of shade and quiet. I still love the sunlight, but not like my mom describes it. I cannot stand roller coasters, to the point where I will have severe meltdowns if I go on them. That’s true with any kind of rides, actually. My favorite subject is history, and I want to be an archaeologist or a history professor. I  _ hate _ form-fitting clothes with a passion, and my favorite thing to do is sit on the couch for hours in my oversized cable-knit sweater. I like to put blankets over my head and just exist.

When I returned to high school, I was still well-loved, but the popular friends mom had told me about were confused when I hung out with them that day.

“Why aren’t you moving around?”

“Where’s all your energy?”

“Why are you wearing that? I thought you couldn’t stand sweaters.”

I realized when I got home that day that I was a different person from what they remembered. From what my mom remembered.

That was Junior year. I stayed on my own from there. They stopped calling and texting me after a while, like they figured out what had happened.

It was a car crash that took away my memory. My dad was driving us somewhere. The paramedics found him dead and me bleeding to death on the pavement.

That’s what mom said, anyways. The doctors disagreed, but refused to tell me any more.

And then I arrived at the airport in Chicago, fresh off a plane from Seattle. I was headed to Vesuvia University, a prestigious school for many types of degrees. I was waiting for a bus when head of auburn hair caught my eye. 

A boy my age, about 18 or 19, sat on the bench next to me. He smoothed out the wrinkles in his black pants and sat casually. He wore a long black pea coat with a collar that stood at attention. I could see a hint of his white shirt. Strangely, he wore an eyepatch over one of his eyes.

I didn't talk to him, and he didn’t talk to me. We sat in silence. 

Eventually the bus grumbled to our stop, and I boarded. The stranger did as well, standing behind me as I surveyed the scene.

It was completely packed with college students, save for two open seats next to each other. Oh, great.

I allowed the stranger the window seat and he took it without a word, and I took the outside. The bus lurched forward, and began to drive again.

There was palpable tension between the two of us as we sat in silence. Most of the bus was chattering, people making friends and getting to know each other. 

Suddenly the silence between us was broken.

“White hair, huh? It’s an odd color, but it suits your style.”

His voice, tinged with an English accent, caught me off-guard. 

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, I guess. I dyed it this color, so I  _ hope _ it would fit.”

He gave me a small smile, and my heart fluttered in my chest. This was the most attention I’d gotten in over a year from someone who wasn’t my mom. 

“Well,” I cleared my throat. “What about your eyepatch? Seems like you have a story yourself.”

He coughed, almost nervously. “I— uh, it’s a long story.”

“We have time.” 

“I’d rather not tell it.”

I looked at my lap, and that tense silence settled over us again. There was a couple arguing in front of us, with the man in front of me and the woman beside him near the window.

“I don’t understand why you won’t listen to me!” The woman said. Her voice was beautiful. Lilting. “Lucio, we can’t get a room together. The university only allows girls to have rooms together and guys to have rooms together! I’ll still visit you!”

A distinct jersey accent cut through her words. “No. No, you’ll be staying in my room with me. Don’t bother unpacking your things in your room ‘cuz you won’t be there at all.”

Something about him made my blood boil in anger. Maybe it was his words, or the way he spoke to her, or the fact that his jersey accent was so off-putting that it made everyone instinctively want to burn him alive.

“That is not something you can just  _ demand  _ of me!” she said. “You are making a scene for no reason!”

“ _ I’M _ making a scene!? Look at you, miss fancypants, yelling yer head off and sayin’ that I’M the one making a scene! You’re a bi—”

I kicked his seat. Hard. He jerked forward and the bus came to a halt at a traffic light, making him splat into the seat in front of him. The person in that seat whirled around and yelled “Hey, what the fuck!”

The person in question was a honey-skinned man in his early twenties, with white hair like mine that floated in wisps. His eyes were vibrant lavender, and they met mine.

My breath caught in my throat. He was beautiful. He was the  _ aesthetic _ of soft—

** _WHAM!!!_ **

I was knocked back into my seat, my cheek throbbing in dull pain. There was shouting, and a sudden halt of the bus. I felt a pair of soft, cool hands on my face, examining, and a worried voice cutting through the sudden haze.

“—alright? Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re safe. It’s alright. Just look at me. You’re okay.”

The stranger’s face was in front of mine, delicate hands probing my right cheek. “It’s okay,” he soothed, his other hand rubbing my arm. “You’re gonna have a shiner on there for a while, but it doesn’t feel broken at all.”

His visible eye, a soft grey like a swollen rain cloud, searched mine. 

There was yelling in front of us, but the stranger didn’t allow me to look over. “Hey, hey, it’s alright, it doesn’t matter.”

I realized that I was shaking a few moments later, and I pulled my sweater tighter around myself. The stranger was softer than I had seen before, looking at me with such care. My chest tightened with an emotion I couldn’t identify.

“My name is Julian,” he said quietly, giving me a small smile. “I’m here with the girl who’s about to murder the jackass who punched you.”

I turned my attention to a gorgeous short redheaded girl who was screaming at the blond man in front of her, standing with his hands on his hips. She was being held back by two other people, and obviously trying to repay the favor he had paid me. The most creative swear words and insults I’ve ever heard came streaming out of her mouth at decibels that I didn’t think were humanly possible to achieve. 

“I didn’t believe in true love until this moment,” I giggled to Julian. “Who taught her how to swear like that?”

“Our adopted mom was a pirate, believe it or not.”

I whipped around to Julian, who was wearing the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. “You’ve  _ gotta _ be shitting me.”

“Nope,” he said proudly, then held out his pinkie. “Pinkie swear it.”

I took his offer while staring him in the eye. “Uh huh. An actual honest-to-god pirate in 2019. Is she a Somalian pirate who’s scared of Britney Spears music?”

He chuckled. “No. She does her ‘business’ in the Caribbean.”

“Oh my god,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m gonna have to deal with your ass for the rest of the term, I bet. What’s your first class?”

“Medieval History 1A,” he said.

“Yep, I thought so,” I said, giggling. 

“So what, exactly, is  _ your _ name?” Julian asked as the bus began moving forward. He still had that smile on his face. It was a smile that the cheshire cat would be proud of. 

“Solfryn,” I said. “My name is Solfryn. What’s the tiny demon’s name?”

His grin widened. “Portia. She’s a sweetheart when random men aren’t punching attractive bisexuals on public transport.”

I laughed. “Easy to read, huh?”

“My god, you were practically ogling her a second ago.  _ And _ Asra. Plus you have a bi pride flag on your jacket.”

I said the only word that came to mind:

“Oof.”

Before Julian could reply to my detailed response, the woman in front of us turned to face us.

And she was  _ gorgeous.  _ Long purple hair spilling over her shoulders, a perfectly sculpted face, and a pair of ruby eyes. She stared dreamily at us, her dark painted lips twisting into a faint smile.

“I’m sorry about that, darling,” She said. Her voice was crooning, impeccable, like a siren’s. “Lucio can be an  _ asshole _ sometimes. I don’t know why I’m still with him.”

“Where is he now?” Julian asked, suddenly wary of the woman in front of us. 

“Busdriver kicked him off,” she said casually, inspecting her nails. “For his own safety, in my opinion. Portia was going to invert his ribcage, given the chance. Are you alright, darling?”

“Y-yeah,” I said softly. God, my ass was so gay for this woman. “Thanks.”

She smiled lazily, her teeth dazzling in the afternoon light. “It’s no problem. What is your name?”

“Solfryn,” I replied.

“A beautiful name, indeed. Nadia Satrivina. A pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances,” she said. She turned to Julian. “I know exactly who  _ you _ are, Julian Devorak. How have you and your sister been doing?”

He chuckled. “We’ve been fine. Portia missed you over the summer. I suspect you’ll be keeping her all to yourself again?”

“But of course” she grinned. “She enjoys the attention very much, and she’s such wonderful company. Plus she’s my favorite out of all of them.”

“Them?” I asked. 

She looked at me with those dreamy eyes. “People on campus call me a ‘sugar mommy’. Let them call me what they want. I buy things for the girls I like and treat them like queens, and in turn they wear those things and be beautiful in my presence. Portia is the best of them all, I’m afraid, because she’s too sweet to handle. Oh! Speak of the devil.”

The redheaded girl was back, and she clung to Nadia like a magnet. For the first time I really got to appreciate how pretty she was. Her face was round, as were her cheeks, and a swarm of freckles raced over her button nose. A pair of blue-gray eyes were set into her face. 

“Are you alright, love?” she said to me. “Lucio’ll get what’s coming if he messes with you again, believe me.” 

“Pasha,” Julian warned. 

“Shut up, Ilya,” she replied. “I’m Pasha, but everyone calls me Portia.”

“Pasha?” I said, testing the name out on my tongue. “What region is that?”

“Mom says it’s Irish,” she said. “It’s a little different from ‘Ilyushka’, but he’s got more of the physically  _ russian _ appearance than me so I can see where she would get it from.”

“Wait, you’re Irish?” I said. I suddenly couldn’t contain my grin. 

“Yep,” she said proudly. “We both are.”

“Me too!”

There was a silence, and then Nadia spoke up. “Darling, you’re, um… you seem to be…”

“I’m a mix between Irish and Chinese,” I conceded, and everyone made a little “ooooh” sound of understanding. “My mom is the chinese one, and my dad was born on the Isle of Man, which is how  _ this _ asian lady—” I jerked both thumbs at myself. “—ended up with a last name like ‘Faraund’.”

“I-I’m sorry,” a voice suddenly said. We turned to the newcomer. It was the white-haired boy from earlier. His voice was soft; airy and intimate. “Are you alright? You looked pretty shaken up.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m okay.” 

“Hi, Asra,” Julian said with a small smile. 

Asra returned that smile. “Hi, Ilya.”

There was more talking between everyone while I simply sat and listened. The topic of heritage evolved into everyone sharing their origins (Nadia was turkish, while Asra’s family was from somewhere in either greece or the middle east, he didn’t specify). It was soft, in a way, to listen to all of it. I was part of a conversation that I didn’t feel awkward about, that I didn’t feel like I had to be someone else to make people feel comfortable around me. And… and I was happy.

Eventually the bus pulled to a stop near a sprawling campus. Everyone stood from their seats and filed off the bus, including my little group, and began walking to various places. Our group just stood there, taking it all in.

After a brief, yet hilarious episode reminiscent to the  _ Blair Witch Project _ ’s map plot (without throwing it away), we found the freshman dorms and rejoiced when they learned they would all be on the same floor, with Nadia in the single down at the end of the hall, Julian and Asra in a room, and Portia and I in a room. 

Ours was small, but homey, with two loft beds and a large window facing the sprawling campus. I claimed my bed and opened my suitcase on the desk, taking out the things I would need within the next couple of hours. Portia, however, took to decorating; by the end of a few minutes, paper streamers in the campus’s colors (purple and gold) adorned the walls, and a banner with the university mascot, a phoenix of red, yellow, orange and gold rising from the ashes, hanging above our door with white letters reading “Rise Above”. Her bed set was laid out, and clothes neatly put away in the dresser. 

I noticed for the first time how well-dressed she was. She wore a white blouse with puffy sleeves underneath a light blue jacket that cut off at her midriff and a green tartan skirt, with a pair of white socks that came up to her knees, with her green converse sitting by the door. She had a tiny gold hoop in her right nostril. 

She gave me a bit of a breathless smile, her braces glinting in the afternoon light. “I might have taken over decorating a bit,” she said sheepishly, displaying a tall mirror on the wall that reflected my own amusement at me. “Sorry.”

“No! No, it’s fine!” I said, laughing as she dashed to catch one of the falling banners. “Do you need help?” 

“Uh…” There was a gentle ruffle of falling fabric. The university banner lay curled up on the floor. “Yeah.”

* * *

“No, but the milkshakes there are the  _ shit _ ,” she said, talking animatedly with her hands. “I’ll ask Nadia if she wants to come with us, if you like, ‘cuz she does  _ not _ mind paying for stuff at all because her parents are filthy,  _ filthy _ rich, plus she looks like she could need a good milkshake after dealing with her sisters all summer. What do you think?”

“I’d be fine with that,” I said. We stopped in front of her door, and a brief smell of vanilla and incense wafted out from the cracks. Golden light shone within, cascading across the hardwood floor of the hallway. Portia rapped her knuckles thrice upon the door, and a small voice from within called “coming!”, and the door opened for us.

In the entrance stood Nadia, now sporting a purple and gold letterman jacket with matching converse. She gave us both a pleasantly surprised smile. “Hello, you two! What do you need?”

Portia pointed her finger at me in an accusatory manner and said in a voice specifically saved for movie villains, “This one has never has a milkshake from Gus’s!”

Nadia practically blanched. “You haven’t?! Jesus Christ, we need to get you there now!”

Within seconds, I was whisked into a gorgeous purple convertible and we were peeling down the roads of Chicago, Illinois towards a small hole-in-the-wall malt shop on South Kimbark Avenue called  _ Gus’s _ . Nadia went in and got Portia a double chocolate malt with extra whipped cream, herself a caramel malt with two cherries instead of one, and me a double vanilla with no cherries and not as much whipped cream. We sat parked in the car on the side of the road, and I took my first bite.

It was better than candy, than regular ice cream, than two double fudge brownies stacked on top of each other with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and drizzled with chocolate and caramel and extra fucking dip’n’dots. I decided, then, that my life goal was to marry the saint who brought this into being so that they could make me a malt whenever I wanted one. I said this aloud, and the two girls agreed that this was an admirable life goal. 

“Wait until you have Ben’s pizza,” Portia said around a scoop of chocolate. Ben’s Place is amazing in general but his pizza is like a fuckin’ orgasm in your mouth! Nadia, can the three of us go tonight?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t we?” she giggled. “You two, meet me at my car at about 6 tonight and we will.”

Portia did a mini dance in her seat as we drove back to the campus, still enjoying our malts in their take-out cups.

I had never known that much peace in a long time, I realized. But when we got back, the peace was shattered.

We walked down the hall to Nadia’s room, where we agreed to hang out for a while, but a tall figure stood in her doorway, silhouetted by the light coming from her room. I heard something fall to the floor. Nadia had dropped her empty cup and her spoon.

“Nadi,” he crooned. My stomach dropped. I recognized that voice. It was the guy from the bus. “Guess who you didn’t come and see today?”

“I didn’t give you permission to go in there,” she said in a small voice. “What did you do?”

“Nothing lasting.”

She pushed past him and gasped and sank to her knees.

Her entire room was destroyed. Her bed was flipped over, the shelves were on the floor, small glass trinkets shattered into a million pieces. A picture frame, completely smashed and ripped apart, showed a torn photo of her and an older woman sitting side by side, smiling at the camera. 

“My picture of  _ annem! _ You ripped it in half!” she cried, then pressed the two halves to her chest and wailed. “You monster! You absolute monster! Leave and never come back!” 

“You shouldn’t have spent all that time away from me. I thought you were with another man, or one of your whores—”

“ _ SHUT YOUR MOUTH! _ ” she screamed, tears streaming down her face. “GET OUT OF HERE, BEFORE I CALL CAMPUS SECURITY!  _ I HATE YOU! _ ”

He made a noise that sounded like a ‘tuh’, then left, shoving past us violently. And then he froze, and whirled around to look me in the eye, glared at me, and kept walking, stalking to a different level.

Portia rushed inside, avoiding the broken glass, and comforted Nadia. She held her head against her chest and murmured soothing words to her as she cried, and I felt a boiling anger grow inside of me.

How  _ dare _ he.

**Author's Note:**

> the chapters will probably not be this long in the future but i hope y'all like it


End file.
